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International Copyrighted (In England, her Colonies 
ed States) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors 



No. 419 



UNTRUE TO TYPE 



A One Act Play 



BY 



INA DUVALL SINGLETON 



Copyright, 1921, by Samuel French 



Notice: — Amateurs may produce this play 

without payment of royalty. All 

other rift'hts reserved 



PRICE 30 GENTS 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

publishes 

28—30 West 38th Stbeet 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Stbeet 

STRAND 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 

An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. 

Lippmann, author of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 

females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. 
Plays 'ZVz hours. 

It is altogether a gentle thing-, this play. It is full of 
quaint humor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind 
that people v/ho see the play will recall and chuckle 
over tomorrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very success- 
ful book for stage service, and in doing this has selected 
from her novel the most telling incidents, infectious 
comedy and homely sentiment for the play, and the re- 
sult is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

CLARENCE. 

A comedy in 4 acts. By Booth Tarkington. 5 males, 
5 females. Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. 
Plays 2V2 hours. 

Clarence has no medals, no shoulder bars, no great ac- 
complishment. One of the "five million," he served Avhere 
he was sent — though it was no further than Texas. As 
an entomologist he found — on this side of the ocean — no 
field for his specialty in the great war. So they set him 
to driving mules. 

Now, reduced to civil life and seeking a job, he finds a 
position in the home of one Wheeler, a wealthy Engle- 
wood man with a family. And because he'd "been in the 
army" he becomes guide, philosopher and friend to the 
members of that same agitated and distracted family 
group. Clarence's position is an anomalous one. He 
mends the bathroom plumbing, he tunes the piano, he 
types — off stage — he plays the saxaphone. And around 
him revolves such a group of characters as only Booth 
Tarkington could offer. It is a real American comedy; 
and the audience ripples with appreciative and delighted 
laughter. 

"Clarence" is a real delight. It is as American as 
"Huckleberry Finn" or pumpkin pie. It is as delightful 
as any native comedy which has tried to lure the 
laughter of this country in the last ten seasons. 

PRICE, 75 CENTS. 

MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A pleasing comedy, in three acts, by Harry James 
Smith, author of "The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, t> 
females. One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 
Plays 2Vi hours. 

Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complica- 
tions arising from the endeavors of a social climber to 
land herself in the altitude peopled by hyphenated 
names — a theme permitting innumerable complications, 
according to the spirit of the writer. 

This most successful comedy was toured for several 
seasons by Mrs. Fiske with enormous success. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



UNTRUE TO TYPE 

A One Act Play 
By 

Ina Duvall Singleton 

Copyright, 1921, by Samuel French 



Notice : — Amateurs may produce this play without 
payment of royalty. All other rights reserved. 

Price 30 Cents. 



New ¥obk 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHEE 



LONDOH 

SA]MUEL FRENCH, Lm 
26 Southampton Stbbet 



3ft-30 WEST 38th Street I STRAND 






CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Ip.ving Beecher a theatrical producer. 

Mary Beecher his sister 

Anne Warwick an actress 

Jess an unknown. 



Place: Study in Irving Beecher' s apartment. 
Time: Late evening. 



m 18 1922 
©OLD 5 9()60 



*<A.t> 



I 



UNTRUE I O TYPE 



The scene takes place in Irving Beecher's study. 
Two windows are at hack stage — a desk covered 
with papers at right. When the curtain rises^ 
Beecher is discovered seated at the desk, intent on 
the papers.. Mary Beecher is standing hack stage 
at one of the windows, feeling the top of the sash. 

Mary. Irving, it won't catch! 

Irving, {absorbed in his papers) What say? 

Mary, {excitedly) It doesn't hold at all! 

(Irving pays no attention to her.) 

Mary. Irving, please listen to me. Leave those 
pap-rrs a minute and come here. 

Irving. Why, what's wrong? 

Mary. It's this window. The icatch won't work. 

Irving. Well, v/hat of it? 

Mary. Haven't you seen about all the robberies 
that have been going on lately? Near here, too. 

Irving, {laughing indulgently) Oho, so that's 
it ! You're afraid of burglars ! I don't think they'll 
bother us. 

Mary. No, I don't suppose you do, but just the 
same, I'd feel safer if this window really locked. 



4 UNTRUE TO TYPE 

Irving, (soothingly) Now, Mary, don't you 
worry. I'm here to protect you, you know, but if 
it will make you feel any safer, I'll have the win- 
dow fixed tomorrow — ^and (teasingly) hovr about 
having the apartment fitted out with the latest im- 
provements in burglar alarms? 

Mary. Don't be silly! But I'd be scared to 
death if anyone got in and besides, I don't want to 
have my rings disappear some fine night. 

(The telephone rings.) 

Irving, (anszvering) Hello. Yes, this is Mr. 
Beecher. Who? Miss Warwick? Yes, indeed, 
ask her to come right up. 

(He hangs up the receiver and begins to straighten 
his tie.) 

Mary. Is that Anne? 

Irving. Yes — and for once, I wish it wasn't. 

Mary. Why, Irving! I never expected to hear 
you say a thing like that ! 

Irving. She's come to try to persuade me to let 
her have a part in the new play — and — ^well, she 
can't, that's all. 

Mary. I don't see why you won't let her, Irving. 

Irving. You too, Mary? Have I got to argue 
this out with you as well as Anne? 

Mary. No, you cross oM thing. For / have 
learned that there's no use in arguing with you. If 
Ann-" Warwick had known you as long as I have, 
she'd not be coming here tonight, after you've once 
told her "no". 



UNTRUE TO TYPE 5 

(Anne Warwick enters. She is exquisitely dress- 
ed — a slender, patrician looking woman, of evi- 
dent breeding refinement. She shakes hands 
with Beecher and kisses Mary.) 

Mary. I'm so glad to see you, Anne. 

Anne, {looking at Irving) I don't hear Irving 
echoing that remark! 

Irving. I. . . . 

Mary. Don't mind him, my dear. I interrupted 
kim in the midst of his work and he's cross. 

Anne. How unfortunate for me ! Why did you 
do it, Mary? 

KIary. I just had to make him listen. Anne, 
have you seen about all these burglars lately? 

Anne. The papers won't let you forget them. 

Mary. And aren't you frightened? 

Anne. Not particularly. 

Irving. You see, Mary, some women . . . 

Mary, (interrupting) Oh, no comparisons! I 
know I'm a coward! 

:iNNE. Why did you interrupt him? I thinl< 
he was going to say something nice! 

Mary. If you think that, my dear, I'll leave you 
to your little talk while he's in a .softened mood. I 
Know you came to talk with him. 

Anne. Yes, and he knows about what, too. 

Irving, (groaning in mock distress) Only too 
well! 

Mary. I think it's a hopeless case, Anne. But 
do your best— or your worst. I'll see you later. 
Good luck. (She goes out) 



6 UNTRUE TO TYPE 

Anne. You're delivered into the hands of the 
enemy, Irving. No escape. {She sits down, fac- 
ing him determinedly) 

(Irving seats himself with a resigned air) 

Anne. I got your note this morning. You were 
afraid to say things like that to my face, weren't 
you, Irving? 

Irving. Now, Anne, do listen to reason .... 

Anne, (sighing) That means you're going to 
be disagreeable. 

Irving, (firmly) It means that I mean what 
I said in my note. 

Anne, (leaning forward and speaking tensely) 
Then you won't let me have it? 

Irving, (rather wearily) My dear Anne, need 
we go over it all again? It isn't for a moment 
that I doubt your splendid ability (Anne gives 
a shrug at this sop to her vanity) but you're sim- 
ply not suited for the part — ^you — 

Anne, (interrupting) If you haa any real faith 
in my "splendid ability", you'd let me prove it by 
making myself suit the part. 

Irving. Now see here, Anne. You know that 
I have your interests at heart — I don't want your 
former successes spoilt. Your public loves you — 
but they love you for just what you are — a charm- 
ing, well-bred woman. They are used to parts in 
which you can be just — yourself. They wouldn't 
stand for you in any other kind of role. They 
would see your personality — that patrician perso- 
nality — beneath the mask. And they wouldn't like 
it. 



UNTRUE TO TYPE 7 

Anne, (thoughtfully) You mean then — my 
personality overshadows my art? 

Irving. Well, that's one way to put it. Another 
is to say that you ought to remain true to type. I'm 
sorry, Anne, since you've set your heart on it, but — 
I'm afraid — You see, you're too pretty — you're too 
dainty — I can't imagine you as playing a ragged 
thief convincingly. 

Anne, (rising) Ah, but I could! I could — if 
only you'd give me the chance! (She motions to- 
wards the table) There's the contract — waiting. 
Let me sign it, Irving! 

Irving, (inexorable but gallant) Impossible! 
why, what would the public say to me, if I permit- 
ted you to hide your charm in such a part ? 

Anne, (petulantly) Oh, charm! I'm sick of 
being charming! (As if to prove her statement^ 
she leaves the room abruptly, without even a good- 
bye nod, slamming the door after her.) 

Irving, (standing looking after her in surprise) 
So it would seem! 

(Mary enters from, the other side) 

Mary. Why, where's Anne? 

Irving. She went. 

Mary. I thought she'd wait to see me. 

Irving. No, she — well, to tell the truth, Mary, 
she got angry because I wouldn't let her have the 
part. 

Mary. I don't blame her. I'm sure she could 
do it. Why won't you let her try it, Irving? 

Irving. I'm really looking out for her interests, 
Mary, thought she can't seem to imderstand that. 



S UNTRUE TO TYPE 

She's made her reputation — ^and made it in parts 
that just suit her — ^parts in which she can be her 
charming self. And we know, Mary, just how 
very charming that is! Now, don't you see, the 
public isn't going to want her in such a part as a 
little thief — why, she'd have to wear rags — ^be 
dirty — unkempt — can you picture the exquisite Anne 
Warwick like that? No, of course not. And it 
will strike a false note : it wouldn't be true to tjrpe. 

Mary, (reflectively) There's something in 
what you say, Irving, but I still think 

Irving. I tell you, she can't do it. But that's 
the trouble with these stars. They make a hit in 
one part — the public likes 'em in it — want's *em to 
give them more like it. But that's just what they 
won't do. No, they must have a wider scope for their 
talents — something different — to show their ver- 
satility. And then the public is disappointed. 

Mary. But who will you get? 

Irving. I had thought of June Dawson. She 
did good work in the saloon scene in "After Dusk" 

She was good. Not just exactly what I want, 

though. 

Anne. Talking about burglars makes me ner- 
vous. (She glances towards the window) It's 
getting late. I'm going to bed. You'd better go. 
too, Irving. Perhaps if you sleep on it, you'll de- 
cide to change your mind and let Anne have the 
part. 

Irving, (decisively) Nothing can make me 
change my mind, Mary. 

Mary. Good night, you obstinate old thing. (She 
goes out) 



UNTRUE TO TYPE 9 

Irving arranges some papers on his desk. He stuiu 
ches off the light and starts towards the door 
through which Mary has gone. He opens it 
and stands for a moment in the door-way. The 
light which shines through the dodr gives 
enough light on the stage for him to be seen. 
There is a faint noise back stage and Beecher 
closes the door, throwing the stage in complete 
darkness. There is a sound of a scuffle, a muf- 
fled cry^ the sound of something heavy falling. 
The light flashes on. Irving Beecher, rather 
dishevelled, is standing in the middle of the 
room, holding a forlorn, ragged figure with a 
firm grip. 

Beecher. You little devil! You might have 
killed me! (He looks down at the pistol on the 
floor. ) 

The Figure, (sullenly) 'Twarn't loaded. 

Beecher. Good Lord! It's a woman! 

The Figure, (impudently) Didn't think it was 
the Statue o' Liberty, did ya? 

Beecher. (sternly) None of that. What are 
you doing here? Who are you? 

The Figure, (still airily) Who, me? I'm Lady 
Gwendolyn Vanderveer, just dropped in to pay a 
call on yer Highness. 

Beecher. (dryly) (holding her arm with one 
hand and reaching for the telephone with the other) 
I'm afraid my humble apartment is hardly large 
enough for such an exalted personage. But I think 
I can easily arrange to make you the guest of the 
city for the night. 



10 UNTRUE TO TYPE 

The Figure, {drawing back suspiciously) Here, 
wot yer givin' us? 

Beecher. {urbanely) The police will take great 
pleasure — 

The Figure, {dropping all pretence at a bold 
front) No, no— fer Gawd's sake, Mister, — not 
the cops ! I ain't bad, Mister — honest to Gawd I 
ain't! Give me a chanct — that's all I'm asking, just 
a chanct! 

Beecher. If I had given you a "chanct," you'd 
have shot me, I think. That doesn't encourage me 
tc give you another. 

The Figure, {snivelling) The gat ain't loaded, 
Mister. I swear it ain't! 

Beecher. The gat? 

{She points to the pistol.) 

Beecher. Oh, yes, of course. You would call 
it that. {He stops over and picks the pistol up. 
Aiming at a corner, he pulls the trigger. It clicks 
harmlessly) 

Beecher. That much is the truth, anyway. But 
why did you bring it? 

The Figure, {shivering) 'Cos I was afraid of 
'em. 

Beecher. {understanding) Afraid you'd — ^kill 
someone ? 

The Figure, {half-crying) Yes — once we was 
on a job — and Black Jim — he hatter shoot — an' I 
seen the man — all crumpled like and bloody {she 
shudders) I couldn't never do nuthin' like that. 

Beecher. {ironically) Very commendable sen- 
timents, I'm sure. But you haven't told me to 



UNTRUE TO TYPE ii 

what I am indebted for the honor of the company 
of— Lady Gwendolyn, I think you said? 

The Figure, (resentfully) G'wan! Jess is 
me moniker. 

Beecher. Well, Jess, I think I'll let you go. 
(She starts towards the window) Oh, no, not so 
far. Just to here. (He points to a chair opposite 
him.) I want to talk with you — ^but mind, no tricks, 
or^ — (He turns threateningly to the telephone) 

Jess, (sullenly) I ain't done nuthin,' have I ? 

Beecher. Well, well, go on with the sad story 
of your life. You came here to steal, and from a 
rather unguarded reference to your past, I take it 
this is not your first job? 

Jess, (her professional pride assailed) Say, do 
I act like a bloomin amachoor? 

Beecher. (apologetically) Really, I've had so 
little experience Vvdth thieves — amachoor or profes- 
sional — 

Jess, (aggrieved) Yer needn't go makin' fun 
of me. I guess you wouldn't think I'd done some 
good jobs — me gettin' caught this way, but we had 
the wrong dope. We thought we seen yer go out. 

Beecher. I'm very glad I didn't. Not of course 
that I would have minded — er — parting with the 
few trifles you might have taken a" fancy to, but I 
should have been distressed to have missed your 
visit. 

Jess, (craftily, breaking into sudden laughter) 
We does get along fine, don't we, Mister? 

Beecher. (smiling in spite of himself) We does ! 
(Then suddenly serious) Now what in the devil 
am I going to do with you? 



12 UNTRUE TO TYPE 

Jess, (sniffing again) Not — not the cops, Mis- 
ter ! 

Beecher. Here, child, do take a handkerchief f 
(He hands her one he takes from his pocket) 

(Jess takes it, but seems at a loss what to do with 
it.) 

Beecher. Here — (He wipes her eyes and cheeks) 

Beecher. (as if to himself) Poor child — after 
all, she isn't to blame. I suppose you've always 
lived this sort of a life, Jess? 

Jess, (fiercely) Wot other kind could I 'a liv- 
ed ? Even if I'd wanted to be different, what chance 
was there? Me old man drunk — me mother drunk 
— and me gittin' a beatin' if I wouldn't go out a 
pick pockets. That's all I ever knowed. I never 
knowed no one but pickpockets and thieves— I 
never knowed no one like — like you, Mister. If I 
had- — (She weeps noisely, this time using the hand- 
kerchief in crude imitation of the way Beecher 
has done.) 

Beecher. (profoundly touched) Jess, I be- 
lieve you have good in you — I believe you could 
make something of yourself. Listen, are you will- 
ing to try? If I help you? 

Jess, (unbelievingly) What yer mean, Mister? 

Beecher. (eagerly, as the idea takes hold of 
him) Leave this life, leave your drunken parents 
— I'll send you to school — make a lady out of you — • 

Jess, (incredulous, but delighted) G'wan, you 
couldn't ! 

Beecher. (quite carried away by his enthus- 
msm) I could — and I willf 



UNTRUE TO TYPE i^ 

Jess. Golly, won't it be grand to be a lady! 

(Beecher smiles indulgently at her delight. A sud- 
den thought strikes him and he pulls out his 
watch. ) 

Beecher. You must go now, Jess. 

Jess, (disappointed) Go? Ain't yer— ain't yer 
goin* to — 

Beecher. Going to what? 

Jess. Do like what yer said — make a lady of 
me? 

Beecher. Yes, but not tonight. Tell me where 
yoii live, and tomorrow I'll come for you and take 
you away to some place where you can grow in 
body and spirit. Perhaps — who knows? (He looks 
at her critically) I might even make an actress out 
of you. 

Jess, (practically) I live at ^V2 Water Street, 
down by the wharves — go up two flights and we 
live in the room wot's got a door with a panel kick- 
ed out. Me father did that once when I didn't open 
it quick enough to suit him. 

Beecher. I will be there tomorrow. And now 
you must go. (He leads the way to the door.) 

Jess, (shrinking back) Not that way, Mister. 
Someone might see me. 

Beecher. How then? 

Jess. The way I come. (She waves to the win- 
dow.) Down the fire-escape. (She hesitates) 

Beecher. (kindly) What is it, Jess? 

Jess, (wringing the handkerchief which is still 
in her hands, and speaking low) I just wanted — 



14 UNTRUE TO TYPE 

you've been so good to me, Mister. Would yer 
mind — just once? 

Beeciier. (puzzled, but very gently) Speak out 
Jess. What is it you want? 

Jess, (dropping her head) If yer would — kiss 
me! 

Beecher. (gazing at her dirty face apprehen- 
sively) Kiss you! 

Jess, (sniffling) 'Course I knowed yer wouldn't 
want to, but — 

Beecher. (compassionately) My poor little 
girl! 



(Jess looks up hopefully. Beecher takes her in his 
arms and kisses her gently. Jess slips from his 
arms and runs towards the window. She turns 
towards him.) 



Jess, (in tones of entreaty) Yer won't ferget 
to come fer me? 

Beecher. Jess, I wouldn't fail you for the world ! 

Jess, (stepping nearer to him) Yer're so good 
to me— (Her voice changes to a more cultured 
tone) so good that (she dangles a watch before 
him) I think I'll give you back your watch! 

Beecher. (feeling in his pockets hastily) Well, 
I'll be damned ! 

Jess. On second thoughts, I'll trade your watch 
for— shall we say, — the new part? (She pulls 
off her ragged cap and with it a wig of matted hair, 
disclosing Anne Warwick.) 



UNTRUE TO TYPE 15 

Beecher. Good Lord, Anne Warwick! 

{He looks at her in amazement and then turning to- 
wards the desk, hands her the contract with a> 
bow.) 

-:-QuicK Curtain-:- 



BILLETED. 

A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Har- 
wood. 4 males, 5 females. One easy interior scene. A 
charming comedy, constructed with uncommon skill, 
and abounds with clever lines. Margaret Anglin's big 
success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy to produce 
and popular with all audiences. Price, €0 Cent* 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts, By James Montgomery. 5 males, C 
females. Costumes, modern. Two Interior scenes. Plays 
2% hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for 
twenty-four hours? It is — at least Bob Bennett, the 
hero of "Nothing But the Truth," accomplished the feat 
The bet he made with his business partners, and the 
trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and 
his fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tre- 
mendous comedy hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be 
whole-heartedly recommended as one of the most 
sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
country can boast. Price, 60 Cents. 

IN WALKED JIMMY. 

A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffe. 10 males, 2 
females (although any number of males and females 
may be used as clerks, etc.) Two interior scenes. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Plays 2% hours. The thing into which 
Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, when 
the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor 
was in serious contemplation of suicide. 

Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been 
a mysterious figure had it not been for his matter-of- 
fact manner, his smile and his everlasting humanness. 
He put the shoe business on its feet, won the heart of 
the girl clerk, sa.ved her erring brother from jail, escap- 
ed that place as a permanent boarding house himself, 
and foiled the villain. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human 
nature, just a dash of excitement and more than a little 
bit of true philosophy make "In Walked Jimmy" one of 
the most delightful of plays. Jimmy is full of the re- 
ligion of life, the religion of happiness and the religion 
of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of op- 
timism, good cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the 
play. There is not a dull moment in any of the four 
acts. We strongly recommend it. Price. 60 Cents. 

(TIse AliwTe Are Subject to Royalty "Wheia Prodaeed) 

SAMUEI. FRENCH, 28-30 "West 38tli St., New York City 

Ne-w and exj^McW aescrSptJve catal<i>SBJ.e maaSledl e-H request 



PENROD. 

Play in four acts, adapted for the stage by Edward B. 
Rose from Booth Tarking-ton's stories. 16 males, 7 
females. One interior, two exterior scenes. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2^ hours. 

The play is based on the last series of stories in which 
Penrod fignires — the series in which his exploits as an 
amateur "detecatif" were chronicled. However, episodes 
from many of the earlier stories are incorporated in the 
stage creation, including- the famous Pageant of the 
Table Round. All of the familiar characters people the 
play. Sam Williams, the irresponsible; Herman and 
Verman, the colored brethren; Maurice Levy, the rich 
boy; George Bassett, that paragon of all the virtues; 
Marjorie Jones, Penrod's sweetheart; the suave Mr. Her- 
bert Hamilton Dade; the Rev. Mr. Kinosling; Mr. and 
Mrs. Schofield; Penrod's big sister, Margaret, and her 19 
year old sweet-heart; Bob Williams; Jarge, the hired 
man. and many others. 

The piece is written in a vein of pure comedy from 
beginning to end and won instant favor on its produc- 
tion at the Globe Theatre, New York. 

"Penrod" is a play primarily for adults and is not a 
children's play, although of course children also enjoy 
it. But it is not intended for juvenile consumption 
alone. On the contrary, one needs the experience and 
the maturity of the adult to thoroughly enjoy this 
amusing narration of the escapades of that young rascal 
Penrod, wha becomes in the play a hero, much to every 
one's surprise, including himself. PRICE, 75 CENTS. 

LITTLE WOMEN. 

A play in four acts, dramatized from Louisa M. 
Alcott's world-famous story, by Marion De Forrest. 5 
males, 7 females. One interior and one exterior scene. 
Plays 2% hours. 

Once in a great many years the stage fulfils its mis- 
sion because some genius evolved the kind of play that 
meets all requirements, being clean and wholesome, 
telling a sentiment awakening tale in a simple and yet 
effective mannei', imparting entertainment withoiit 
offending our sense of propriety and good-taste and yet 
giving us amusement of a heathful kind and delivering 
its message of hope and cheer in a v/ay that cannot but 
impart beneficial thoughts and send us from the theatre 
with a higher opinion of humankind than possibly we 
had when we entered. If a play does that it is certainly 
fulfilling its greatest mission. "Little Women" accom- 
plishes all these things and does it with such ease, sufih 
delightful naivety, such sweetness and such sane senti- 
mental grace that one cannot but feel like sending the 
Huthor and the producer a generous vote of sincere 
thanks. 

The play is as charming and sweet as a day in June 
and it breathes freshness and purity in every line. 

"Little Women" was produced with tremendous 
success by William A. Brady at The Playhouse, New 
York City under stage direction of Jessie Bonstelic, 
vhere it enjoyed a. long run. and was afterwards touvpri 
for several seasons. PRICE, 75 CENTS 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




017 401 414 # 



THE NEW CO-ED. 

A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of 
"Tempest and Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 
females, though any number of boys and girls can be 
introduced in the action of the play. One interior and 
one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one in- 
terior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 

The theme of this play is the coming of a new student 
to the college, her reception by the scholars, her "trials" 
and final triumph. 

There are three especially good girls' parts: Letty, 
Madge and Estelle, but the others have plenty to do. 
"Punch" Doolittle and George Washington Watts, a 
gentleman of color, are two particularly good comedy 
characters. We can strongly recommend "The New 
Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents. 

THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY 

The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner, 7 
males, 6 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes 
modern. Plays ly^ hours. 

This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts 
for "Aunt Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucin5a,' 
a New England ancient maid of all work; "Jack's" three 
chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; "Joshua," Aunt Mary's 
hired man, etc. 

"Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York 
and on tour over two years, and it is sure i.o be a big 
success wherever produced. We strongly lecoianiend it. 

l*rice, GO Cents. 

MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt 
and William Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior 
scene stands throughout the three acts. Costumes 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

"Mrs. Teinple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in 
which there is an abundance of fun without any taint 
of impropriety or any element of offence. As noticed by 
Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a tangled we"b we weave 
when first we practice to deceive!" 

There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and 
from the time the curtain rises until it makes the final 
drop the fun is fast furious. A very exceptional farce. 

Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 

SAMUEL, FRENCH, 28-30 West 3Sth St., New York City 
N<'-»v and explicit descriptive eatalosue mailed on request. 



